


Light in Life

by Redtiger7736



Series: The Immortals of Iazalan [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (not from the squad), And as such all his badness, Anxiety, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Distrust of ones own mind, Graphic descriptions of violence, Injury Recovery, Love Language, Manipulative Behavior, Manipulative magic, Medical Magic, Multi, Myrth is having a really bad day, Nightmares, No one can sit in a chair properly, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Things finally go right, good communication, memory problems, mentions of manipulative behavior, mentions of the Count, will update tags as I go, with ROCKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redtiger7736/pseuds/Redtiger7736
Summary: Myrth begins to recover and, perhaps, believe
Relationships: And every combination of that, Ivius/Elm/Zol/Rai, Ivius/Elm/Zol/Rai/Myrth (Eventually)
Series: The Immortals of Iazalan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096097





	1. The Finer Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai reminds Myrth of the good bits of life.

Myrth could almost,  _ almost _ believe they were real.

Ghosting his where the sorcerer--Ivius?--had touched him so gently, Myrth tried to recall that warmth. His thumb soft, the palm of his hand bearing hints of blisters and callouses, an unworked man learning to work perhaps. Or perhaps it was the horses, they had ridden in together, hadn’t they? Myrth frowned, snatching his hand to his chest. Why did he care? Why was he trying to puzzle his own imagination out?

Because his imagination was never this warm, this honest. He had seen things before, wished so desperately for company his mind conjured it, but his own broken psyche could never forget the bitting grins and hidden malice. Ivius showed none of the signs he had come to expect from apparitions, no violence at all. The man had seemed utterly  _ concerned _ , ready to pull against his, what, lover? To stay with the insane mage in the tower? He couldn’t figure it out.

Then there were the others. His mind was jumbling their names, but he could see their faces so clearly, so vividly. The knife-wielder had been cautious but had abandoned their weaponry without hesitation upon seeing Myrth. They still sat on the ground, sheathed in simple leather. Myrth lifted them, withdrew one, and tapped the point on his palm, feeling only the distant thrum of electricity with each beat. Shaking his head, he replaced the knife and set them by the door, resolving to return them tomorrow. He wasn’t sure why.

There were Immortals with them as well, a man and a woman, the latter still exhausted by the day’s events. And yet, as she leaned against the man, she had seemed so confident in her words. A solution to loneliness, she had said… It was tempting, incredibly so, but a risk as well. The Immortals were one thing--they at least would never leave by Death’s side. The Mortals though? He could not risk them. His heart would break if he lost them, shatter with what was left of his fading sanity.

All of this, only if they were real of course.

With a sigh, Myrth fisted his hands in his hair, his mind spinning. It was all too much, too much change, too much hope. He hoped they were real, hoped they would stay and wouldn’t leave like everyone had. Like  _ Ginrath _ had. 

Despite what he had said, Myrth knew of Ginrath. The dragon had been fiddling with his fate for longer than he had been aware but had only shown themself once or twice, trying to coax him from his tower of safety. He had screamed, his mind too fragile for such an adventure, and Ginrath had grown frustrated and left. Of course they had, he wasn’t sure what he expected now.

Groaning, Myrth banged his head against the wall once, huffed, and strode out the door, twitching his hands for the knives to fly up to him. Tucking them in his waistband, Myrth descended the stairs, banging his way into the library.

It was clean, as always, neatly dusted with polished wood floors. He strode to the desk, pulled out the leatherbound book and opened it angrily, fishing out a quill and ink a moment later. Gritting his teeth, Myrth began to write in short, angry strokes, unsure precisely where the rage came from. His handwriting was messy and scrawling, filling page after page with nonsense as his mind rambled on and on and on. His hand ached as he clenched the quill, his wrist smearing with ink and hair falling into his face. It was a mess.  _ He _ was a mess. With a growl, Myrth stabbed the paper, snapping the tip of the quill, ink splattering over his written word. He stared at it, rage slowly fading as the ink dried. With a soft sigh, Myrth released his death grip at last, leaning back to survey his carnage once more. 

He was deep into the journal now, most of the pages containing similar, indecipherable nonsense. Thumbing through it, Myrth could only read bits and pieces of his writing, catching the occasional name. 

“Ivius,” Myrth read aloud, eyes tracking to the other, vaguely familiar ones, “Rai… Elm… Zol…”

They were probably the people he was housing. The apparitions, he corrected himself, frowning at his sudden belief in their realness. They were  _ not _ real. He refused that. With a huff, he slammed the book shut, surely smearing the ink more as he stuffed it back onto the shelf. He corked the ink and replaced it and the snapped quill in the drawer, silently repairing it with a twinge of magic. Still huffing, Myrth strode out of the room, stewing.

He blinked rapidly as he emerged onto the staircase landing, shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. It was midmorning perhaps, early enough that the light was still a vivid orange. He had written away half the night… With a sigh, Myrth descended to the ground floor.

“Good morning, Ickle-” Myrth froze, staring at the familiar back of a head. He continued to stare as the person turned to face him, a smile tugging on their face. The dreadlocked stranger. Standing in his kitchen. Cooking?

“What in the Hells are you doing in here,” Myrth half snarled, guilt smearing his anger as they frowned.

“Cooking breakfast,” They responded, “Ivius was worried you would be too tired, but he’s a terrible cook so I thought I’d make you something instead.”

“I don’t need to eat,” Myrth retorted sharply.

“Neither do Elm and Zol,” They said matter-of-factly, turning back to the stove, “But it goes a long way to a good day. Being Immortal only means you cannot starve, not that you don’t tire from lack of food.

Myrth paused, glancing down at himself. That… made sense… He was bony, evidently, which he knew wasn’t a good sign. Overuse of magic could wear an Immortal down, why not overuse of body? He hadn’t been eating well in… a long time. They were right, whoever they were.

“What’s your name,” He asked at last, suddenly viscerally uncomfortable with his own existence and the turn of conversation. Thankfully, the stranger seemed content to let his topic change go, meager as it was.

“Rai.”

“Rai,” Myrth murmured, tasting the syllable on his tongue. It sounded South Eastern, though he wouldn’t be surprised if geography had changed since he had escaped to his tower. “What are you making?”

“Rice, eggs, and salted meat. You don’t have much here, otherwise I’d done something more interesting,” Rai said, stirring what Myrth assumed was a pan of scrambled eggs.

“I don’t keep much around,” Myrth repeated, finally moving from his awkward perch at the base of the stars. He had no chairs left upright, so he settled on the counter behind Rai, feet dangling. The knives tucked against his waist clattered, and he withdrew them, examining their sheathes.

“So I did leave them in your room,” Rai said with a hum, glancing over their shoulder, “Good to know.”

“I didn’t steal them,” Myrth huffed defensively, tossing them to the other counter where Rai could reach them.

“I’m aware, and I wasn’t blaming you,” Rai soothed, “Just wanted to know where they went.”

Myrth froze for a second, caught off guard, then recovered, ignoring the warmth in his face. “They’re finely crafted, where did you get them?”

“My home,” Rai answered vaguely, pulling a pot of rice from the back burner, “My original one, that is.”

“That’s vague.”

“I’m still Mortal, and I don’t intend to die anytime soon,” Rai explained, turning to face Myrth. He was caught in their gaze suddenly, unsure why he felt like the world was spinning. “You were Mortal once, you must recall how it is.”

“Perpetual half-truths,” Myrth muttered, “Easy to spin a tale with those.”

“I’m more than aware of that,” Rai said, a frown marring their face suddenly.

“That means what, exactly,” Myrth asked despite himself. This was a dangerous game he was playing now, teetering on the edge of a story, a commitment.

“I…” Rai paused, thinking carefully, “We are more alike than you think. We can talk more later, after breakfast.”

Myrth could only stare dumbly as Rai finally turned away, dishing up a bowl of rice before laying the eggs atop it, three strips of salted meat joining the meal on the side. They scavenged for a fork, then shoved the bowl in Myrth’s hands, striding away once they were sure he wouldn’t drop it. He watched them go, then turned to stare at his meal once more.

“They sure are strange, Ickles,” Myrth murmured, carefully scooping a bite of rice and egg into his mouth. It was simple but more flavorful than he expected, slightly creamy. He wasn’t sure where they had gotten milk from, he didn’t keep any. “Strange indeed…”

…

Midday rolled around by the time Myrth finished his food, redressed--properly, with guests around--and left his tower. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, though he tried to keep his hopes down. Part of him still believed the strangers will have left by now, either through walking or his imagination giving up the ghost. Part of him expected to find them slaughtered on the grass.

Thankfully, neither option seemed to be taking place. Trotting gallantly around the meadow pasture was Rai, sitting atop a sandy horse with a clipped mane. It pranced easily, taking whatever small guidances Rai offered without hesitation, crossing over poles and small gullies with practiced ease. Myrth watched from afar as they cantered up the hillside, tensing when they reached the rockiest patch. The horse slowed minutely, shortening its strides as it traversed the landscape, never once slipping on the stone. Rai rode smoothly as well, posted up on their toes to avoid the heavy bouncing. They dropped back in the saddle as their horse loped back down the slope, gaze finally alighting on Myrth. Waving brightly, they slowed their horse to a stop before the young Mortal, Ivius, leaning down to speak with him.

“Rai got you to eat, correct?” The sudden voice to his right made him tense for a moment, though he relaxed minutely when he saw Elm, a few steps away. She looked brighter than the day before, face no longer quite so lined with exhaustion, a tiny smile playing on her face.

“Yes,” Myrth said, turning back to the rider in question, “They’re a good cook.”

“The best among us, I daresay,” Elm hummed, moving to stand beside him, “They lived alone so they had to learn to cook. Shaylan certainly wasn’t going to.”

“Shaylan?”

“Their horse,” Elm replied, gesturing to the creature before them, “She’s their closest friend and confidant, she knows more of Rai’s story than all of us, that’s for certain.”

“It’s better that way, safer for Mortals,” Myrth said without thinking, frowning deeply. Why did he care?

“Yes, yes it is,” Elm sighed, shoulders drooping, “I just wish I could give them relief from whatever burden they carry sometimes.”

Myrth paused, trying to decipher  _ that _ . He knew, faintly, that such a thing was a facet of friends, of  _ relationships _ , but to be so determined of it? What was the catch?

“What are you searching for?” Myrth asked eventually, watching as Rai hauled Ivius up behind them, wrapping his arms around their was. The taller man dipped his head to their neck, a pleased smile playing across Rai’s face.

“The truth,” Elm answered calmly, “As we told you before. And to help you.”

“Not from me,” Myrth clarified, “From them. You say you want to help Rai, what are you searching for?”

For a moment, Myrth didn’t think she would answer, though upon glancing over at her face he was shocked to find confusion written on it. He stared openly for a moment, then looked away, ducking behind his hair best he could.

“Myrth, I am not looking for anything  _ from _ Rai,” Elm began softly, reaching out to tentatively brush her fingers along his. He almost reached back, then snatched his hand away, pulse thrumming under his skin.

“Then why do you want to help?”

“Love. I love them, Myrth, and I want to help them because of that.” 

Myrth frowned, trying to parse out his thoughts on that statement. She said it as if it were true, but could it be? The naive part of him still believed that yes, perhaps love could be a reason. The cynical part screamed that it was a trap.

“I care about them, and  _ you _ believe it or not--” Myrth snorted even as his heart did a strange flip, “--and I will help them and  _ you _ because of that. For a long time, I lived like you have, decades of loneliness. I failed the first people I cared about, outlived them, and sealed myself away because of that. A friend of mine and Ivius finally broke through my idiocy, and I live happier because of it.”

“Happier,” Myrth murmured, musing. His thumb idly brushed his knuckles, and he could feel Elm’s gaze on him as he stared into the distance.

A thumping brought his attention back to the present, and he turned in time to see Rai and Ivius trot up to them, the latter red-faced and grinning in delight.

“I have never moved so fast before,” Ivius whooped, swinging clumsily off the horse and swooping Elm into his arms, “It was delightful!”

“He nearly fell off,” Rai pointed out, sticking their tongue out at Ivius’ offended noise.

“Indeed,” Elm said, laughing as Ivius set her down carefully, stealing a kiss before stepping away to grin at  _ Myrth _ . Damn.

“We’re you watching? Did you see?” He sounded like an excited child, and Myrth wasn’t sure how to take it. He nodded stiffly, looking away as Ivius grin broadened. That man was  _ bright _ .

“Have you ever ridden, Myrth?” Rai asked, easily shifting the subject at his discomfort.

“It’s been some years,” Myrth replied, scratching his head as he tried to recall when he last saw a horse, “Perhaps… a century after I made this place. I don’t recall when really.”

“Wow,” Rai sounded genuinely surprised, “Well, let’s fix that.”

“Fix that?” Myrth whipped his head towards them, finding himself faced with an outstretched hand. Rai. Still atop Shaylan. Offering him a hand.

“What?”

“Get on the horse, Myrth,” Rai said, their words an annoyed order even as their eyes sparkled with delight.

“You should try it,” Ivius put in, “Rai is a delightful teacher, and Shaylan is very nice. I should know, they carried me through the desert.”

“Your dumbass was passed out then, that’s not a point in time you get to talk about,” Rai snarked, still keeping eye contact with Myrth. Elm let out an undignified snort from beside him. Finally, slowly, Myrth placed his hand in Rai’s.

“Alright, you ride in back. Foot in the stirrup, and swing up.”

It took Myrth a few tries before he fit his boots in the stirrup, swinging up with Rai’s help. He settled in the well-worn saddle, tensing at the sudden closeness. Rai reached back, snagging his hands before he could snatch them away, carefully placing them on their shoulders. He was relieved it wasn’t any lower--he couldn’t handle pressing quite so close.

“Hold on,” Rai said gently, nudging his foot out of the stirrup so they could steal it again. They clicked once, tapping their heel against Shaylan’s side, and they were off.

A gentle walk at first, Myrth took the time to refamiliarize himself with the movements of a horse, swaying along with Rai. At the second click, he tensed, fingers digging into Rai’s shoulder as they rode. He wasn’t sure why he was scared of falling, it wouldn’t hurt, but he still didn’t want to do it. Rai led him through the same patterns he had watched from the ground earlier, weaving between poles and ditches with familiar ease. They trotted towards the hill, and Myrth went completely rigid, glaring at the rocks. They weren’t a threat, and yet… 

He shifted his balance closer to Rai as they picked up the pace, loping towards the hillside. They went up easily enough, the soft thumping of hooves clattering against the rocks as the ground shifted. Suddenly, there was a shift, a misstep perhaps, but it had Myrth’s heart stopping. He snatched at Rai, jerking them to his chest even as Shaylan recovered smoothly. 

“Oof,” Rai hissed, putting a hand on his tight grip around their middle, “Relax, you’re fine.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Myrth growled, glaring at a sharp rock and flicking his hand. It shot away, flying over a nearby peak. “You’re breakable, not me.”

“Then stop trying to break my ribs, they’re just healed,” Rai said, tapping his hand. Guilt flooded him, and he released them, returning his grip to their shoulder as they loped down the hill once more. They slowed to a trot and then a stop, standing before Elm and Ivius once again, the latter grinning like an idiot.

“See?” Ivius bounced on his feet, offering a hand to Myrth to help him down. He ignored it, swinging off on his own.

“It was… interesting,” Myrth finally acknowledged, crossing his arms to prevent him from doing something stupid, like holding hands with Ivius.

“It was fun, wasn’t it,” Ivius said, “You had fun.”

“No, stop smiling,” Myrth grumped, shrinking down on himself, “Why are you still here.”

“Same as before,” Ivius trilled, patting Shaylan’s nose as Rai dismounted, “Helping you.”

“You made me breakfast, that’s helping.”

“ _ Rai _ made you breakfast,” Ivius said firmly, “ _ I  _ haven’t helped you. I’m still figuring out what I can do. Zol has a plan though, that’s why he’s not out here.”

“What?” Myrth whirled to face him. “A plan? What do you mean?”

“A plan to help you,” Ivius said factually, “I won’t give away the surprise though. Isn’t it lunchtime?”

“You know the plan? What is it?” Myrth felt suddenly off keel, though not as angry as he had expected.

“I believe it is, perhaps we can put something together Rai. Ivius can take care of Shaylan,” Elm said pleasantly, offering her arm to Rai.

“Don’t ignore me, what’s Zol’s plan?” Myrth demanded, following Ivius as he took the horse from Rai and walked her to the stable.

“Go ask Elm! She’s the teacher, she’s better at explaining than me,” Ivius said over his shoulder. Myrth whirled, hurrying to catch up with Elm and Rai as they entered the tower.  _ His _ tower.

“Someone tell me what in the Hells Zol’s plan is!”

…

Returning to the library after two full meals, Myrth found his mind unusually clear. His hand was steady as he returned to his journal. He calmly opened the page, removing ink and quill as he had before. Flipping to a blank page, Myrth dipped his quill in ink and put it to paper. In smooth, unhurried strokes, he wrote.

“ _ The morning was a bright one today…” _


	2. A Step Towards Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrth and Zol share an illuminating night conversation and refuse to use chairs properly.

It was always a gamble sleeping in his own bed. Some nights, Myrth would find it a comfort, the well-worn blankets and pillows conforming to his shape and wrapping him in warmth. Some nights, it was a prison, locking him in a prison of blankets as he fought demons in his sleep.

Tonight was the latter. He woke with the blankets tangled around his feet, sweat beading on his forehead and sticking his hair to his face. Gasping desperately, Myrth brought one shaking hand to his cheek, tracing down the wet tracks slowly. A sob caught in his chest, choked out by his own need for silence. His head was screaming, too loud too  _ loud too  _ **_loud_ ** **.**

Kicking off the rest of the blankets, Myrth stumbled out of bed, staggering to the door and fleeing as quickly as he could. He stumbled down the stairs blindly, tracing bricks as he went, finally bursting free onto the ground floor. It was still dark out, moonlight flittering through torn curtains and leaves to illuminate the room. Myrth froze, staring at the center of the room.

A table.

He did not own a functioning table.

Before he could inspect said table, the front door creaked open and a familiar man walked in, carrying what appeared to be two chairs over his shoulder. He paused as he noticed Myrth, eyes widening for a second before he shuffled, setting down the chairs.

“Zol,” Myrth began, his voice slightly scratchy, “Why is there a table in my tower?”

“Because typically, people have tables,” Zol said cautiously, eyes flicking between the table and the door. He shifted from foot to foot, every part of him looking as unsure as Myrth felt. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

“Where did it come from?” Myrth felt his heart stop as Zol winced, eyes flicking up to rest somewhere over Myrth’s shoulder. Even now, in his insanity, he could recognize the signs. The scars. Someone had hurt Zol, and he wasn’t sure why it made him so viscerally angry. He tucked that thought away for a later date.

“I, uh, I made it,” Zol said slowly, “And some chairs since you appear to have broken most of yours.”

He… made them. “Why?”

Zol shrugged, nudging one chair forward with his foot. “Rai likes to eat at the table… and you deserve nice things.”

“So you… made me a table… because I need… nice things?”

“My magic isn’t good enough to make you something nicer,” Zol said, pointedly looking anywhere but Myrth, “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands though.”

“So you made me a table.”

“Hells above  _ yes  _ I made you a table,” Zol snapped, wincing a fraction of a second later, “Do you not want it? I can make yo-”

“Don’t,” Myrth said, suddenly crossing to the table, “I like it.”

Running a hand over the embossing, Myrth couldn’t help the fond smile that slipped on his face, suddenly thankful for the shadowy lighting that hid the small blush from view. Wildflowers were burned carefully into the maple, highlights carved out with a careful hand. The grain was smooth and the finish glossy, easily a finer piece of furniture than anything else he owned right now. Where Zol got the supplies for such a finish he wasn’t sure, perhaps there was some ancient gloss stored away in the cabin. He couldn’t keep track of his things.

With a flick of his wrist, Myrth lifted the table and chairs and sent them zooming across the room, settling among the wreckage of his last table. A snap and the splinters vanished, and a flourishing wave brought the room into flickering candlelight. Zol hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

“Are you hungry,” Myrth asked as he strode towards the icebox, trailing a hand along the table as he went. He heard footsteps behind him as Zol took his words as the invitation they were meant to be.

“I’ve been warned that you aren’t the best of cooks,” Zol murmured, settling at the table.

“There are leftovers from Rai,” Myrth responded, pulling out a covered bowl of thin soup and rice, “They are a fantastic cook, particularly considering I don’t keep much around anymore.”

“Of course,” Zol said with a small smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Myrth said as he dished the food into two bowls, “Are you hungry?”

“Ah, yes,” Zol admitted at last, accepting a bowl from Myrth and peering inside, “Thank you.”

Myrth shrugged nonchalantly, perching on the chair opposite Zol like a flighty bird. He settled the bowl on his knees, staring at his reflection in the soup for a scant moment before shattering it with his spoon. He scooped the rice onto his spoon first, bathing it in soup before bringing it clumsily to his lips. It had tasted better warm, the earthy taste of the tea now a scant memory to the chilled broth. Still, he ate it, having tasted far worse in the past decade alone.

“You know, had you asked me a month ago, I would have said no,” Zol said, idly spinning his spoon in his soup.

“...If you were hungry?” Myrth looked at Zol in confusion, ignoring the funny flip in his stomach as Zol let out a soft laugh.

“No, I mean to sit,” Zol clarified, a faint smile still on his face, “Here, at the table. I would have said no.”

Myrth stared in confusion, watching as Zol brought the spoon to his lips for a bite. Either there was something he was missing or had completely misinterpreted the very strange statement. He covered his confusion with a large bite of his food, slurping the soup at what was probably an unacceptable volume for civilized society. Then again, crouching on a chair to eat soup from a bowl on his knees was also unacceptable for civilized society.

“I… have had a rough past,” Zol began, spooning another bite to buy himself some time. Swallowing thickly, Zol idly traced the patterns he burned into the wood, “There are some… strange triggers for painful memories.”

“I know the feeling,” Myrth said with a hum. His mind drifted to the tomes hidden away in his library, their words like daggers on his skin every time he read them.

“I’m sorry you have to,” Zol said, his sincereness startling Myrth, “I wish this sort of pain on no one.”

“I… okay.” Myrth frowned at his own response, turning his gaze to the soup before he could question it further.

Zol sighed, returning to his meal with slightly less enthusiasm than before. Myrth could practically feel his upset, but he honestly had no idea what to do about it. More to the point, he wasn’t sure  _ why  _ he even  _ cared  _ in the first place. He shouldn’t. Zol wasn’t his  _ friend  _ , and Myrth had yet to be convinced he was even real. Too many times had he done this song and dance with people who were just his imagination. Too many times he had tortured himself trying to help people who once again didn’t care,  _ couldn’t  _ care. And yet…

Myrth sighed, slurping a final bite of soup before setting it down. It had gone flavorless in his mouth, his mind already elsewhere. That was something they didn’t tell you about being an Immortal--your attention span shriveled. Rocking back on his heels, Myrth searched for the words that would maybe somewhat comfort the Immortal before him, coming up only with the vague outline of Ivius in his mind. Ivius was a comfort, wasn’t he? Ivius was also asleep like a sane human being. 

“Are… are you alright? Right now?” Myrth winced at the empty words, knowing they would do nothing to help Zol. Still, Zol seemed to get the spirit behind the words, a smile crossing his face briefly.

“Alright is a very subjective word. Compared to you? I’m in perfect health,” Zol said with a laugh, pulling a snort from Myrth as well, “But no, not really. I was only up tonight because memories were surfacing and I haven’t the courage to speak with Ivius and Elm about them.”

“Rai isn’t included in that group?” Myrth thought they were all a thing, one big lump of… something. Perhaps he was wrong.

“They already know,” Zol clarified, “They found out when this whole journey began. I just… Elm and Ivius have never made their pasts a secret as Rai and I have, I fear they wouldn’t understand.”

“Your secret past or why you hid it from them?” Myrth was now just entertaining the small voice in his head that claimed these were real people with real stories. 

“Both, I suppose. There are… things in my past that I am not proud of. Wounds I have inflicted that I cannot escape,” Zol sighed, pushing away his half-eaten meal at last, “I don’t know why you’re easier to talk to than them.”

“I’m not, you’re just too blind to admit that,” Myrth replied truthfully, though Zol laughed as if it were a joke. “I… Nevermind.”

Zol leaned back in his chair, tilting it back on two legs in a dangerous manner. Myrth couldn’t help but smile at the motion--neither of them were fit for civilized company, sitting in chairs like a pair of hooligans. It had been a long time since Myrth had enjoyed the simple chaos of sitting improperly in a chair.

“Have you ever heard of the Count Jerith?”

Zol’s words were laced with uncertainty as he spoke, his eyes still fixed on the table. Myrth could see the stress in his shoulders, the faint flinch of fear as he said the name. It was, as far as Myrth could recall, an unfamiliar one, but his memory was not the best.

“Not that I know of,” Myrth replied, trying for soothing but missing his mark entirely. Zol sighed, nodding, unsurprised by his response. The legs of his chair thumped on the floor as he rocked forward again.

“He was the Count of the Midlands,” Zol explained, though it did little to abate Myrth’s confusion--geography changed a lot in 500 years. “I… He… Some months ago, he died. Was killed.”

“You knew him?” Myrth knew instantly he shouldn’t have asked that question, saw a flinch and pain that was all too familiar. This Jerith was a boogeyman to Zol in some manner, his fear-inspiring power reaching Zol even after months in the grave.

“Unfortunately so,” Zol said, sighing and covering his eyes with his hand. Myrth traced the scars on his arm with his eyes, following them to the edge of the sleeve before they slipped away under the fabric. Immortals bore scars often, but these seemed fresher than one would expect for Zol’s Immortal age. 

“I’m not sure how much you know of Immortals’ Sigils, but they are considered contracts,” Zol began again, hand still over his eyes, “I don’t know with what, but they’re contracts, and contracts can be manipulated.

“The Count was not a powerful man on his own. He had little magic to speak of, was not an overly strong warrior, and was still well below the age of Immortality. He had connections though, and those made him strong, politically and otherwise. Some connection brought a mage to his court, a warlock with a powerful patron. Evidently, their magic was based on manipulation, a fact I was unaware of. I was a fool to enter the court, and had I known the warlock was there I never would have.”

“You’re an Immortal, surely you don’t have anything to fear from a Mortal warlock.” Myrth knew he was lying to himself as he spoke, and Zol’s bitter laugh only confirmed it.

“How I wish that were the case. You of all people should know there is more than one way to harm an Immortal,” Zol trailed off for a moment, staring at the table, “So often we are referred to as gods, apex predators with no dangers to us. Still, you can muzzle a wolf with the right bait.”

Myrth’s mind lept twelve steps ahead, running through assumptions that made him progressively more and more upset. His magic swished under his skin, aching for something to throw or break. Gritting his teeth, Myrth forced the instinct down, trying to focus on Zol before him. Zol, who was tense and… crying? Something was truly upsetting the man. Man? When had Myrth started considering him real?

“I was a fool to believe myself invincible,” Zol hissed at last, startling Myrth slightly, “Invulnerable to wounds does not make you invincible. Contracts can be manipulated, and chains can be forged. I… The warlock managed to tether me somehow, through the Sigil, and I was the lapdog, the  _ plaything  _ of the Count.” Zol spat the words, wiping the tears from his face roughly. “I was theirs and I could do nothing about it.”

Myrth wasn’t sure what to do about any of this. He felt a rage--a familiar feeling for an unfamiliar reason--and a sorrow, neither of which he could identify an action to abate them. Breaking something now would only startle Zol, which would heighten the sorrow. He wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t sure if he should reach out for Zol as Ivius would or sit and listen as Rai would. He had experienced both over the past few days but had yet to practice either. All he could be certain of is he wanted to help Zol, why he wasn’t sure, but that didn’t really matter. 

“He liked to parade me around at dinner parties,” Zol continued with a sob, tearing at his hair, “I  _ hated  _ those… those  _ damn  _ parties.” Zol curled in on himself, fists pressing into his eyes and elbows on his knees. Myrth could take it no more, hopping clumsily onto the table to kneel before Zol, hands hovering over him uncertainly.

“He’d show me off to whoever was willing to crow their power over me with him,” Zol snarled, tears still falling freely, “I couldn’t fucking  _ speak  _ . I had no damn  _ choice  _ .”

Myrth finally settled one hand gently on Zol’s shoulder, almost withdrawing it at the flinch before Zol reached up to grab his wrist. Myrth tensed for a moment, but Zol only seemed to be holding him in place. Forcing himself to relax, Myrth searched in vain for comforting words, instead choosing to brush Zol’s magic gently with his own.

Zol tensed at the touch of his magic, a sob biting off in his throat before tearing full force from his chest. Whatever modicum of control Zol had over his tears left at that moment, and he sobbed. Myrth stayed still, couched on the table in front of him with a hand on his shoulder, uncertain. Zol sobbed loudly, his face hidden from Myrth’s view by a curtain of hair and hand. 

Myrth felt rage simmering under his skin, a habit from his early days as an Immortal that he had yet to shake. His empathy had never really left him, had always stalked him in the shadows, and today it reared its ugly head. He could do nothing to abate this pain though, no balm would heal the scars the Count had left on Zol. He couldn’t even take revenge as other Immortals would. He could only sit and watch as Zol cried and cried and cried. He cried until there were no more tears to cry, and then he choked. Air heaved into his lungs in uneven gasps, slowly coming back under control. When Zol’s hand finally left Myrth’s wrist, he could see faint marks of red that would bruise on any Mortal. Still, he kept his hand on Zol’s shoulder. 

“‘M sorry,” Zol murmured at last, sniffing and scrubbing his face with his sleeve, “Didn’t mean for that to come out quite so violently.”

“It would be hypocritical of me to be upset at that,” Myrth pointed out, lifting his hand tentatively to Zol’s hair. Indulging the selfish, touch starved part of himself, Myrth tucked a lock of hair behind Zol’s ear, withdrawing quickly as Zol tensed. 

“I suppose it would be,” Zol hummed, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. A faint smile of amusement crossed his face as he noticed Myrth’s position, though it faded quickly. Unsure of what to do now, Myrth sat back on his heels, tucking his hands under his arms.

“I killed him, you know,” Zol began after a long moment of silence, “The Count. It is the only violence I have ever chosen for myself and enjoyed. All others I have regretted in some manner.”

“Even those defending Rai and Ivius?”

“I regret putting them in the situation in the first place,” Zol said softly, “I don’t regret the actions I took. I regret the lives I have taken before though… Their words haunt me.”

“That seems to be the life of an Immortal,” Myrth said sadly, “Haunted by ghosts we have created.”

“Maybe so,” Zol sighed. He sat for a long moment, staring at Myrth with red-rimmed eyes, then leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Myrth could see the faint scars on his neck now, pale in the candlelight. Rage bubbled up again.

With a sigh, Myrth clambered off the table as gracefully as he could manage, taking their abandoned bowl to the icebox once more. He had little in the way of creature comforts anymore, but he knew from watching from his tower that Zol appreciated such things. Staring at his sink for a long moment, Myrth wracked his brain for something, anything, Zol might appreciate. He wasn’t good with words, and touch seemed touchy for Zol right now… Tracing the score marks on the counter, Myrth let his mind wander. Perhaps…

Crossing to the window, Myrth manhandled the ancient thing open, reaching out to snag one of the many pinecones that were collecting in his neglected flower box. Glancing once at Zol, Myrth cupped the pinecone in his hand and pulled his magic. He twisted it around each nib, pressing them closer together and molding them into one smooth shape. Now he had a solid pinecone, which was… not a great gift. With a frown, Myrth let his magic swirl idly around him for a second, trying to come up with a proper gift. A pinecone was not a proper gift. A… A what? What was? He hadn’t given gifts in a long time. Well… Perhaps Zol would entertain his stranger collective side.

Closing his eyes with a sigh, Myrth covered the pinecone with his hands, letting his magic reshape it entirely. He felt the warmth in his palms for a long moment, then the sharp cracking of electricity as the pinecone changed. Once that faded, he opened his eyes, lifting the thing in his palms to the light.

It was a stone, small and ovular, perhaps the size of an egg yolk but more misshapen. Perfectly smooth and shiny, it was deep amber in color, swirls of purple radiating out from the center. A magical warmth coated its surface, a comfort in combination with the light heft to the rock. Technically, it was an impossible creation, amethyst inside of amber, but Myrth didn’t care and he hoped Zol wouldn’t. The message was more important than the logic, and he knew it conveyed his hope. It was safe here, for Zol at least. 

Approaching Zol tentatively, Myrth searched briefly for words before giving up and simply holding out the rock. Zol, caught off guard, stared at it for a long moment before finally reaching out to take it. He turned it this way and that, examining it in the light in silence. The amber caught the warm hues of the candlelight well, the small bubbles of air trapped inside refracting in strange manners. The amethyst sparkled, deep purple and smooth without a single bubble of air. 

“It means safety and community,” Myrth explained tentatively, scratching his neck, “The amethyst is known to have calming properties among shamans, and the amber is a connective stone. Well, sap technically.”

“It’s for me?” Zol seemed genuinely enraptured by the stone in his hand, perhaps a little shocked by the gift.

“Ah, yes,” Myrth ducked away, suddenly too anxious to stand still, “I… You like things, so. A rock.” 

It was not an eloquent sentence, but it apparently got the job done as Myrth was graced with a true if not shaky smile from Zol. The Immortal looked more exhausted than he had when they had first met, but lighter in some ways as well. Myrth tried to return the smile, though he couldn’t keep eye contact.

“Thank you,” Zol said at last, returning his gaze to the rock, “I… Thank you. For the rock, and for listening.”

Myrth could only manage a stilted nod, suddenly feeling too hot and too cold. He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore, once again in unfamiliar territory. He had based the gift on Ivius, but now they were in a place where Ivius would kiss Zol and Myrth was  _ not  _ prepared for that. He was also still restless and agitated from the story earlier, some part of him still seeking revenge on a dead man. He wanted to escape. 

Luckily, Zol seemed inclined to grant him his escape, as he rose from the chair with a groan and a sigh. He almost made towards Myrth for--what, a hug? Myrth felt himself tense, watched as Zol froze, observed him, and smiled softly. He nodded instead, murmuring a quiet goodnight before slipping out the door, rock tucked in his palm. Myrth watched him go in silence, swaying softly, then turned and strode quickly to the staircase door. He raced up the stairs loudly, almost breaking down the door to his library as he sought his retreat.

It was sweetly quiet and warm in here, as always. The cozy lounge chairs were spotless, the desk clean aside from a stray quill he forgot to put away. Sighing as he closed the door, Myrth walked slowly, idly around the room, fingers trailing along the spines of books as he went. He wasn’t even reading the titles, just feeling the worn leather and cloth bindings. They were a comfort, a blanket in a metaphorical sense. He couldn’t go back to sleep after the night and its revelations, but he could read.

Except… he didn’t want to. He just wanted to be.

Picking out one of the thick, familiar tomes, Myrth curled on the chair, back tucked among the cushions and feet propped on the arm. He opened the book to a random page, staring blankly at the letter in front of him as he let his mind wander.

He wanted to believe they were real. The strangers. His guests. The table Zol had gifted him today felt real enough, and the roughness of calloused hands on his wrist felt hard to imagine. And yet… he had done so before. There was no real proof they were not his imagination. He had crafted entire characters in his mind before, brought them to life out of sheer loneliness. Myrth couldn’t trust that they were real, as much as he wanted to.

Still, he could hope, maybe. He had long since given up squashing hope to save his sanity. It was all going down the drain anyway, why not have a good day with it? Myrth could hope that they were real, that Zol had crafted a table and chairs for him because he deserved nice things. That Ivius had held his hand so gently because he was worried. That Rai had cooked a meal for him because he needed to eat. That Elm had smiled at him because he had offered her kindness. He could hope all the little kindnesses added up to  _ something  _ that was not  _ nothing  _ . 

He could not believe, but he could hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: Chairs? Never heard of her.


	3. Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrth wants to remember. Elm helps the best she can.

Myrth could only stare as Elm browsed his library.

He wasn’t sure why he let her in here. This was  _ his  _ safe spot. Emphasis on  _ his  _ . It’s where he could go to escape himself even, where his mind wouldn’t dare shatter and break the peace beyond that of a quill. Priceless ancient books lived here, tended to carefully of course, and Elm was examining them with great interest.

He tried not to hover as she browsed through his books, fingers tracing the edges of the shelves delicately. She paused in front of his collection of ritualistic tomes, lifting one carefully from the shelf and thumbing through the first few pages.

“Those pages are fragile, be careful please,” Myrth said hurriedly, barely stopping himself from snatching it from her and damaging it himself.

“Of course,” Elm answered calmly, glancing up at him to give him a gentle smile, “I promise I will handle these with the utmost care. Myrth, I know the value of such tomes as well as you do, you need not worry.”

Myrth winced, he was hovering. It had been a month and he still didn’t trust them in his tower. It was pathetic. Not once had any of them so much as threatened him. They seemed determined to wait out his idiocy and help him, which was admirable if not foolish.

“I don’t mean to insult you,” Myrth murmured, physically forcing himself to  _ do something  _ , “I just…”

“Trust is a difficult thing to earn,” Elm replied calmly, carefully replacing the book and crossing to him, “I don’t blame you, nor am I insulted.”

Myrth hesitated, then reached out to take her hand gently in his. He swiped his thumb over her knuckles as Ivius had done when they first arrived, determinedly looking at their hands and  _ not  _ her face.

“You are the first I have allowed in here,” Myrth murmured, examining a small scar on her hand, “Not that there have been many visitors.”

“An honor I will not squander,” Elm said, shifting her grip so she could trace the lines in his palm, “Still, there are boundaries here, are there not? If you could enlighten me, it would make this easier for the both of us.”

A memory resurfaced slowly, unbidden, and Myrth pulled his hand from her grasp, tucking it under his arm as a frown found its way onto his face. 

“It’s better you don’t know them,” Myrth said, forcing himself to  _ not  _ glance at the corner.

“If I don’t know them, how will I avoid crossing them?” A reasonable question, which Myrth didn’t want to answer. He was good at being unreasonable.

“Rai would say the bar is on the floor,” Myrth supplied vaguely, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Elm raised one slender brow, but nodded, “Alright. Do tell me if I’m toeing the line at least.” 

Myrth could only offer a nod to that.

Elm sighed, looking more tired than Myrth had seen her in a while as she returned to browsing the books. Myrth forced himself away, heading to the desk and pulling out his notebook once again. The most recent page was filled with doodles--unusual for him, but he was inspired--and a pressed flower Ivius had given him. He still wasn’t sure why, or even what he was to do with it now. He heard a hum from behind him, and the worry returned two-fold. There was no snapping this time at least, no tearing of paper and binding, but he couldn’t shake off the fear in his gut. Relenting to the worry, Myrth glanced over his shoulder.

Elm was curled on a chair, book in hand and curiosity on her face. It wasn’t an ancient tome, simply an old diary of his early days as an Immortal. Well, technically it was ancient by that account. His hand itched to take it from her as he realized it was his own writing, but he didn’t. They were here for the truth, weren’t they? There it was, unbiased by time. He was naive then, and still now at times.

Suddenly, Elm closed the book gently, a look of understanding on her face. Myrth’s heart did this funny little beat that he didn’t care to try and decipher.

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

“All of the books are mine,” Myrth hedged, “I own them.”

“I meant your writing,” Elm replied with a note of amusement, “You wrote this.”

Myrth hesitated for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Yes, but you are free to read it.”

“Is that the truth? Or am I toeing a line?”

Myrth paused at that, unsure how to answer. It wasn’t toeing a line persay--the book wasn’t priceless--but it certainly was uncomfortable. Apparently, his hesitation was enough of an answer, as Elm rose and deposited the book back on the shelf, moving instead to leaning against his desk. She didn’t touch him, instead offering him a quiet smile as he sat, uncertain and stiff in his chair. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking right now, and that  _ scared  _ him. She was a difficult woman to read.

“I won’t read it if it isn’t okay,” Elm said softly, “I am curious of your thoughts, but I am more concerned with your safety. I know the dangers a rumor can brew, even for an Immortal. I want you to understand that, as much as I am here for the truth, I am here for you.”

Myrth nodded slowly, the words rolling in his mind. He had said something similar to Zol, experienced more kindnesses in the past few weeks than he had in decades of existing. Part of him still feared the outside world, still fought to maintain a quickly closing distance between him and his guests. He couldn’t deny they were real now, but they could still be a threat. Some dark part of his mind still  _ saw  _ them as a threat, flinched at their motions. And yet… 

Myrth eyed the flower in his book, the delicate blue bloom pressed flat between the pages of one of Ivius’ tomes. The sorcerer had left the gift with a note on the table several mornings ago, a quiet kindness that asked for nothing in return. It was a reminder that Ivius was there, thinking of him. He hadn’t been thought of in such a mundane manner in so long. No, not mundane. Gentle. Caring. The same way Elm watched him now.

Abruptly, he stood, striding to the corner he had ignored for so long. He pulled aside the chair to reveal a hidden trapdoor. Taking a deep breath, he tugged open the door and lifted the box inside it, carrying it back to the desk. Elm stood exactly where he left her, watching him curiously but making no move to follow him.

“I’m sure from what you read you can figure out I was… somewhat of a doctor when I first began my time as an Immortal,” Myrth explained, setting the box down carefully, “I was obsessed with remembering then. I knew as an Immortal memory would become limited, so I wrote everything down. I… I am unsure what I was trying to prove then, or even if there was anything  _ to  _ prove, but I stopped writing of the people and places around me shortly before the journal you saw.”

Myrth fell silent, thumbing the edge of the box as he avoided Elm’s gaze. Quietly, she reached out, laying her hand gently over his, not trapping him in the slightest. Her hand was warm over his, a small comfort. He took a shaking breath, moving to click open the box.

“It annoyed people, for some reason. I suppose some didn’t want the possibility of being dated due to my writing, though I never specified age ranges in it. Still, I stopped when I was told.” Myrth paused, considering telling her of the threats and bonfires, then shook his head. He opened the box, revealing pages upon pages of his old scrawling handwriting, the papers torn and tattered. Several ripped book covers sat there as well, and fragments of burned and torn paper as well.

“Some people didn’t like that I kept my journals still, and one came here to take their chance. I hadn’t put the border up yet, so they could still get in without my knowledge. By the time I found them, my journals were tatters.”

Myrth lifted a cover from the box, tracing the edge of the knife wound in it. Still, Elm did not speak, did not even move.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Myrth said, a soft laugh escaping his lips, “This was so long ago, you think I would have forgotten it. After all, I’ve forgotten what was once on these pages.”

“You have been reminded of the hurt more often than the light,” Elm said softly, “For many, it is easier to recall that which is dark than that which is light. For Mortals, it is how they survive. For Immortals, it is how we lose ourselves.”

“I wish you weren’t speaking from experience,” Myrth murmured, more to himself than anyone but he felt the small flicker of magic from Elm nonetheless.

“Have you ever reread these,” Elm said, peering into the box, her hands clasped behind her back.

“I can’t,” Myrth said, gesturing to the state of the contents, “They’re in tatters.”

“They’re repairable, you  _ are  _ a mage,” Elm said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “In all these years you’ve never thought to fix them?”

Myrth froze, setting the cover down at last and letting his bangs fall into his eyes. She was wrong, but he wasn’t sure how to explain his thoughts as to  _ why  _ she was wrong.

“I… I have thought of it,” Myrth began slowly, “But I… I don’t trust myself?”

It was more of a question than an answer. Elm hummed softly, reaching out to take his hand once again.

“Perhaps you can trust me,” Elm said gently, tilting his head up with a gentle touch, “I’d like to help you, if you’d let me.”

Myrth felt frozen to the spot, the warmth of her fingers on his jaw almost as distracting as her eyes. He was having trouble focusing enough to form words, so he nodded instead, hoping she could read between the lines. The smile on her face was soft and gentle, and she released his hand to lift the cover he had been examining. With a quiet word and a twinge of magic, she drew her fingers over the wounded leather, the frayed edges coming together smoothly. Carefully, she set it open on the desk, hovering her hands over the box. 

The papers stirred in a silent wind, fluttering upwards and out in a swirling gust. They danced around each other on an invisible current, twirling this way and that in an impressive show of dexterity. Elm’s fingers followed their movements, twisting in incomprehensible ways over the box as she works. The papers froze suddenly, suspended midair, then shot about at breakneck speed, nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye. Scraps and pages collided, twisting about each other until they came together at frayed ends, mending to one sheet. Slowing, page by page, the book rebound itself, each sheet of paper falling into place in the leather cover. The pages were still yellow and crisp around the edges, but mended together at least. At last, Elm lowered her hands, the remaining papers fluttering back into the box in two neat stacks. 

Elm carefully shut the book and handed it to Myrth, who took it in shaking hands. He stared at it blankly for a long moment, then worked his own magic into the pages, rewinding their age carefully. When he opened the cover again, the paper was white once more, soft and splattered with ink. His writing was scrawled neatly on the page, a date from centuries ago. In silence, he paced to the chair in the corner, settling with his feet propped on the armrest. He turned the page, eyes drawn to the doodles in the margins first. Ancient runes. He didn’t recall doing that. A date next to them, and a scribbled message.

“I got bored,” Myrth mumbled, reading aloud to himself. 

A quiet hum from Elm caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see her wave her chair closer to his, magic floating it silently forward. She plucked a book from the shelf and settled on her own, adjacent to him with her legs curled under her. Myrth couldn’t help but smile as she opened her own book, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so.

Returning his eyes to the page, he found a familiar name, a small charcoal portrait to its right. Beside it was a recounting of their first encounter, something he couldn’t recall even the faintest detail of. It was at a bakery, one he had apparently frequented at that time. He had asked for a recommendation and received a delightful one, sharing the pastry with the person in question. He couldn’t recall it, but the recipe written on the following page proved its existence. 

There was light, Myrth supposed, even back then. Glancing up at Elm, he couldn’t help but marvel at the now as well. 

There was light now, wasn’t there? How incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucked up the order of posting these OOF


	4. An Eye for An Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrth's past catches up with him

“Must I go into town  _ with _ you?”

Myrth watched as Elm continued to saddle two horses, completely ignoring his pouting.

“Considering I will need you to come and go through the border, yes, you must,” Elm said factually, checking the straps on her grey mare, “It’s either that, or you wait at the border all day until I return. I won’t have the energy to break in on my own.”

“If only I could make a key,” Myrth said bitterly, glowering at the reins Elm shoved into his hand, “That would make things easier.”

“Well, when you can, you can stay home. For now, up we go!” Elm punctuated her statement with a flare of magic, tugging Myrth from his seat on a hay bale and sending him stumbling into his borrowed horse’s chest. With a huff, Myrth led the gelding from the paddock, swinging into the saddle once they were clear of the roof.

“Alright, and we are off,” Elm said brightly, pressing her horse forward. Grumbling under his breath, Myrth followed suit.

Trotting slowly down the mountainside, Myrth felt his uneasiness grow exponentially. He hadn’t been to town in decades at this point, what little food he kept on hand having come from the Aeris rather than the town itself. They had passed her home some ways back, and he was further from his than he had been in a while.

“Are you alright?” Elm twisted in her saddle to watch him closely, eyes documenting his nervousness. He felt his eyelid twitch as her horse stumbled, his hands tightening around the reins.

“As I can be,” Myrth said, forcing out a breath, “I haven’t been this far out in quite some time, and I don’t exactly have fond memories of this town.”

“Time changes things, Myrth, particularly when in regards to Mortals.” Elm turned around again, “I think you should consider opening your mind to the possibility of things being kinder this time around.”

“I think you should recall they think I’m mentally unstable and violent.” Myrth paused thoughtfully, glancing at the cloud-filled sky. “I think they are also right.”

“At times, maybe, but they are also wrong often,” Elm said kindly, “You are better than you think and than you give yourself credit for. Be kinder to yourself.”

“Easier to say as an outsider.”

“Easier to know the value of considering I have done the same,” Elm said, a note of regret in her voice, “Immortals are stuck with guilt for as long as we let it plague us. Even if we cannot fix our mistakes, we can absolve ourselves of them.”

“There are mistakes it would be unwise to forget.”

“And equally so to remember,” Elm countered. Myrth could not find a response to that, riding behind her in silence.

His nerves only built as the town came into view, the yells of townsfolk echoing up the rocks. Tugging his hood over his head, Myrth slumped in his seat, pulling closer to Elm as she reined her horse back to beside him. Her hand came out to pat his knee once, twice, three times before withdrawing, a comfort he had seen her give to Ivius frequently. He tried not to bask in that implication.

“I am here for herbs, and you are to find yourself a horse,” Elm instructed, sending Myrth’s heart scampering for the hills. He did  _ not _ want to shop alone. 

“I don’t need a horse.”

“You are  _ riding _ a horse.”

“For now.” Myrth huffed, ducking his head as a baker passed by, too afraid to catch their eye. He didn’t want to be recognized today, or ever frankly. Even if they could do him no physical harm, he had long since tired of the slander against him.

“You need a horse, and we will find you one,” Elm said with such certainty Myrth believed it on instinct alone, through a frown marred his face. We? So she was shopping with him? Good.

“I still don’t understand why I need a horse,” Myrth huffed, riding slowly beside Elm as they approached the stables, “I hardly ride in the first place.”

“Perhaps right now that is the case, but in the future you will want one, I think.” Elm dismounted smoothly, posting her mare at the front of the stable as Myrth followed suit.

“That is a vague answer,” Myrth grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m trying to say that, perhaps, you will enjoy going on rides with us someday. Provided we are allowed to stay, of course,” Elm said offhandedly, nearly making Myrth stumble over his own feet. 

“Stay,” Myrth said quickly, a note of desperation in his voice as Elm paused, turning to face him. “I… Stay.”

“I said  _ allowed _ to stay,” Elm clarified gently, her face softening, “Meaning we want to stay as long as you will have us. All of us.”

Myrth wasn’t  _ quite _ sure he believed that yet, but anxiety was prickling at his skin again. He tried to brush it off, turning to the first stall as the stablemaster appeared from the tack room. Elm faced the strongly built woman, her impassive facade already back in place.

“We’d like to purchase a horse.”

…

Several hours and two bags of coins later, and most of their shopping was done. Myrth had settled on a young but kind gelding of a beautiful sable color, a single lock of his mane stark white. He refused to give either Elm or the stablemaster a name for the horse, instead patting his neck fondly and glaring over his shoulder at them. They had then walked around town in search of herbs, stopping at various bakeries and butchers along the way at Elm’s insistence. Finally, with a horse’s saddle filled with food, herbs, and other townley goods, Elm revealed their final stop.

“We should go back,” Myrth murmured for the fourth time that day as he paced the isles of the jeweler’s, eyes fixed on the windows, “I don’t like it here.”

“Once I find a gift for Ivius,” Elm said calmly, examining a ruby with great interest before setting it down, “His birthday is in a few months and I loathe to leave gift-getting to the last minute. Rai already has their gift planned.”

“Gifts can come later, I want to leave,” Myrth insisted. He had been agitated the  _ entire _ time here, never relaxing in the slightest. In the past few minutes he felt his anxiety rising, scratching at his throat in an uncomfortably familiar manner. Something felt wrong, even for him.

“Myrth, relax, please. I promise you it won’t be long,” Elm said softly, lifting a bracelet made of a rainbow of metals. 

“ _ NO _ ,” Myrth shouted far louder than necessary, hands flying to tug angrily at his hair, “We  _ need _ to  _ LEAVE! _ ”

The glass in the window shook as Myrth’s magic flared, and Elm stiffened. She set the bracelet down, reaching for his hands, and then it broke.  _ Everything broke _ .

The glass shattered with a fantastic clatter, the bracelets, necklaces, and earrings erupting in a rainbow of scattered light. The tiles beneath their feet bent and warped, reaching up with claws of stone. The roof creaked and moaned, bowing inwards as the walls threatened to crack. Elm raised her hands calmly, blocking the destruction from caving in on them.

“Myrth, enough,” Elm said calmly, but Myrth couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t  _ him _ .

“ _ Can’t _ ,” Myrth gasped, suddenly realizing why he felt this way. It wasn’t his magic--not entirely at least--and it wasn’t just anxiety. He felt the scratch in his throat intensify, a howl reverberating through the mountains and up to his spine. Something was trying to get into his home.

Grabbing Elm’s arm, Myrth raced outside and staggered through the rubble to the horses. Around them there was panic, people fleeing from the stone beasts that erupted from the ground, the pavement beneath them coming alive. Casting a net of magic before them, Myrth rounded their horses up and pulled his magic close. They needed something faster and stronger than a portal, something that Elm likely hadn’t known was a possibility with his border up. Forming his magic into a sharp blade, Myrth ripped through the empty space before them, tugging the torn threads aside to widen the gap. He grabbed one horses’ lead, allowing Elm to snag the other two as they stepped in. Moments later, they emerged in the meadow, releasing the horses as they did so.

It was chaos here too. The soft grass beneath their feet had been torn to shreds by stone claws. His tower was a shambling mess of limbs now, lifted up and living when it  _ most definitely should not be _ . The cabin was smoking, perhaps on fire, and the mountains around them were  _ writing _ . Thousands of stone sentinels rose, their forms of vaguely animalistic shape as they charged, running clear past the two Immortals towards three figures huddled in the tower’s shadow. Zol, standing in front of Rai and Ivius.

“ **_LEAVE THEM BE!_ ** ” Myrth didn’t have time to register the rush of power behind him as he lifted his magic. This was  _ his _ home, these were  _ his _ friends, and he would be  _ damned _ before  _ his _ enemy hurt them. 

Letting the power rush to his feet, Myrth cast out his magic in a violent wave, knocking the sentinels off their feet. He twined his magic along the grooves of the tower, pulling it under control with surprising ease. Forcing it to stand over the two Mortals in some comical guardianship, Myrth twirled his magic back, lifting an ancient willow from its roots by the river and beckoning it forward. It crawled along on spindly legs, stabbing downwards into the rock beasts below it in violent motions. Beside him, Elm lifted her own magic to her fingertips, waves of shockingly cold ice shooting outwards in large spires, trapping what the willow could not break. 

“How the hell did these things get in?” Elm asked, picking up the edges of her dress to race across the ground as Myrth cleared the path. They hurried to Ivius, Zol, and Rai, finding the latter bleeding from a cut on their forehead.

“They aren’t living, my confusion spells won’t work on them. Either that or they formed  _ in _ here,” Myrth explained, reaching to brush a finger across Rai’s cut. It sealed under his touch, though the blood remained stark red against his skin.

“Both,” Rai said sourly, “I was caught off guard. The horses ran.”

“They won’t be far, I made contingencies when you first invaded here,” Myrth explained hurriedly, forcing his tower to its original location and setting it on its foundation, “We have bigger worries at the moment, the horses can guard themselves better than you think.”

“We need to figure out what in the  _ Hells _ is going on,” Zol snarled, scanning the horizon as more sentinels streamed over the hilltop.

“I know--” Myrth began, only to be cut off by a  _ roar _ .

Low and snarling at first, it reverberated through the stone and up his spine, sending cascades of the sentinels stumbling down the shaking stone slopes. Then, it  _ screamed _ , a high pitched screech that echoed through the mountains in a fit of rage. A creature loomed over the horizon, a great maw open in warbling screeches that made Myrth clamp his hands over his ear. The willow tree moved to attack the coming sentinels but was thrown clear of the battle by an impossibly long tail. The creature emerged fully, an imposing figure with a smaller, far too familiar companion on its shoulder.

Built thickly, the beast stretched high above them, a wave of tendril-like cords cascading down their skull like a nightmarish mane. Its jaw was long and gator like, teeth dripping with venom as it lashed its tongue at them. It screeched again, knives on ceramic, and stepped one massive, clawed paw forward, kneeling down on dragon-like limbs. Four flickering eyes searched the area independently of each other, glancing over them before returning to the willow. The companion slowly descended from its shoulder, pacing forward in self-assured confidence. As soon as their foot was clear of the beast, the creature stood up, lumbering towards the fallen willow. Myrth released his magic, the tree falling with a thump as the creature bared down on it. Myrth didn’t bother to watch the strange carnage, fixing his eyes on the figure before him.

Dressed in regal black and white robes, the elderly looking sorcerer smiled serenely at him, though their eyes were steely. They stopped several paces away, folding their arms behind their back and staring expectantly at them. Myrth felt his stomach drop, but he made no move to run as he wanted to. 

“Well?” The sorcerer tilted their head, revealing a deep scar running along their neck and down their robes. “Are you going to introduce me to your minions, Myrth?”

“No.”

Myrth stared them down, refusing to budge an inch even as they frowned. He would  _ not _ allow them to take his friends from him, not through taunting nor violence.

“I suppose I should do the honors myself then,” The sorcerer sighed, making to step forward only to find their way blocked by a shard of earth. With a snarl, they dispelled the wall, though remained where they were, focusing their gaze on those behind Myrth.

“I am Ekail, Myrth’s one and only apprentice.” The sorcerer grinned, turning their steely gaze to Myrth. “He tried to kill me.”

Myrth’s heart sunk and he forced himself to keep his eyes forward, ignoring the sharp gazes on his back. This was it. This was when they would leave.

“An eye for an eye,” Myrth said quietly, desperately. Guiltily.

“An eye for a heart, I dare say,” Ekail growled, “I wounded your pride, you  _ wounded _ me. I nearly died.”

“It was never supposed to go that far,” Myrth said, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

“You cannot escape your guilt,” Ekail said, stepping forward with a snarl, “You tried to take my chance at life, so now I will do the same.”

Several things happened at once. Ekail raised his arm with magic at their fingertips. Myrth flinched. Ivius stepped forward. The beast descended.

Myrth didn’t have time to react, could only glimpse the black tendrils of the beast’s mane whip by his face as it lunged for Ivius. A cry echoed over the land, though Myrth couldn’t tell if it was from him or someone else. Blood splattered warm across his face, followed by the sickeningly wet slap of something fleshy. The long whip-like tail of the beast curled past him, reaching for Rai with slithering movements. Zol acted first, seizing the appendage and searing it with a wave of forceful fire magic. The warmth brushed against Myrth, tingling sparks of electricity following in its wake. 

The beast screeched, a high pitched warbling cry of pain that jabbed into Myrth’s head uncomfortably loud. It lashed its tail angrily, tearing free of Zol’s grasp to leap away, only to find its way blocked by a tower of shimmering ice. Screeching in annoyance, it whirled to face the Immortals again, only to find a spear flying towards its face. It squeaked, trying to duck out of the blade’s path only for it to nick its face. Myrth could see the limp arm of Ivius in its maw, blood dripping down his pale skin.

Ekail was many things. Strong, driven, determined, angry. All traits of a good villain. All traits Myrth had. What set them apart was one simple fact. Myrth had people to protect, and because of that, all bets were off.

The night after Zol’s admission as to his traumas, Myrth had begun to research. The concept of tying Immortals to a Mortal was not a new one, but little was known of it, and the magic once thought to be responsible for such ties was considered extinct. It wasn’t though--magic was not living and therefore could not die--and nor was it entirely forgotten. Deep in his library, Myrth had found the answer. There was no blood ritual, no sacrifices or pain to be brought upon innocents as Zol had once recounted. There was only simple magic, pure and unadulterated. Emotions were the catalyst, and they had to be  _ strong _ .

Hate raged through Myrth, directed at the person before him. His apprentice once, his betrayer always. The one who tore through what little trust he had, knifed his books and loathed his existence. They abhorred the way he tried to  _ remember _ , the way he had still  _ hoped _ then. They tore what good he had left from his palm and gave it to the dark. He may have been wrong once, and he would be again. For Ivius, and all the good in the strangers. 

He raised his arm, focused his magic in the tips of his fingers and pointed, instinctively, towards Ekail’s left shoulder, sure the Sigil would be there. His own burned warm on his lower back, hissing in his rage. He saw them jerk as they felt his magic, violently constricting around their Sigil. They froze for a second, staring at him in shock, their mouth working hopelessly.

“Let. Him. Go.” Myrth’s voice shook in fear, his magic tightening around Ekail’s Sigil. Ekail only stared, shocked, gaping. They reached a hand towards their Sigil, and Myrth flexed his magic.

Seeing Ekail’s hand jerk to an unnatural stop made Myrth’s stomach flip uncomfortably. The power he was holding was obscene and cruel, he hated to wield it. The beast screamed, circling their standoff uncertainly, Ivius still gripped in their teeth. There was so much blood dripping down…

“Don’t make me use this more than I have,” Myrth growled, testing the hold his magic had on them. Ekail tensed, glancing over at the beast, then sighed.

“Alright,” Ekail murmured, signaling to the beast. With a sickening, wet thump, Ivius dropped from the beast’s maw, blood pooling beneath him. 

Myrth didn’t lower his hand, watching as Elm, Zol, and Rai ran to him, muttering between each other as they tried to tend to Ivius’ many wounds. His gaze caught on the silvery ring, stained red on Ivius’ long fingers. His heart hurt.

Some sick part of him almost finished the magic, sealed Ekail to him like a puppet to its master. He would have complete control over them, and the beast by extension if his theory was right. He could make them hurt, make them pay for all the pain they inflicted on him, on  _ Ivius _ . And Rai and Zol and Elm. The townsfolk as well, the willow the beast had eaten. They had hurt so many… and yet…

Glancing at Zol, Myrth could see the fear lining his shoulders. It might not be because of his actions, but he couldn’t help but recall all those flinches, the small apologies and meek actions at strange times. Zol had been under such a forced thrall, had suffered the wrath of a man’s whims. He couldn’t bring himself to associate with such memories any more than he could bring himself to abandon Ivius.

“Leave,” Myrth said firmly, turning his gaze to Ekail once more, “And hope I never see your face again. I think a second attempt would be in order should I find the chance.” 

With that, he released the spell, lifting his hold over the sorcerer and tearing a rift with the same motion. Raising the winds, Myrth buffeted Ekail back, forcing them and their beast into the rift and far, far away from him. Only when the whip-like tip of the beast’s tail slipped through the rift did Myrth close it, shaking hands dropping to his side. Dreading the next minutes, Myrth turned to the next crisis: Ivius.

He lay on his back in a pool of blood, Elm, Zol, and Rai hovering nervously over him. Rai was doing their best to staunch the bleeding while Elm struggled to close the worst of the wounds with her magic, Zol switching between helping them both. Steeling his nerves, Myrth strode forward, ripping a rift to the side as he went.

“One of you needs to get the Aeris,” Myrth instructed, pulling Zol out of the way to kneel by Ivius’ side. 

He was going to exhaust himself doing this, but the faint, gasping breaths of Ivius said they had little time to spare. Pulling magic to his fingertips, Myrth rested his hand on Ivius’ chest, wrapping thin tendrils of magic around each crack in his ribs. Elm shifted away, steading Ivius’ head as Rai adjusted the cloth on his wounds. Even in his unconscious state, Ivius flinched and groaned at the minute shift. Zol hovered over his shoulder, watching in concern. Weaving his magic in the familiar figure-eight pattern--backward, of course--Myrth spared one glance for Zol, meeting his concern with steady confidence he wasn’t sure he felt.

“Go! I cannot repair everything, I need the Aeris,” Myrth half-shouted at Zol, finally spurring the Immortal into action. With a nod, Zol staggered back, ducking through the rift with only a moment's hesitation.

Returning his attention to Ivius, Myrth sped up his magic. With his left hand steadying the ribs and the right weaving the spell. Murmuring under his breath, Myrth turned back time. One by one, Ivius’ ribs slid back into place, muscle and sinew parting to allow the movement. The shards of bone embedded in his lungs flew up, snapping back into place. The lining of the lungs was a wreck, punctured by ribs and teeth, but Myrth could repair it. Bit by bit, the tissue threaded itself together, the blood finally not pooling at the bottom. He vanished the liquid quickly, before Ivius could try to cough it up and reopen wounds. Darkness was gathering at the edge of his vision now, but there was still  _ so much blood _ . 

Struggling to get his eyes to focus, Myrth turned his attention to the gouge in his arm, knitting the artery together first to staunch the bleeding. He felt his legs give way and he sank back onto his heels, a whine tearing itself from his throat. With a last, desperate shove, Myrth pressed his magic into the tear in his stomach, just barely managing to stop the bleeding. Moments before the rift gave out, two figures emerged, their faces lost to Myrth. Darkness was coming fast, and the ground faster. He let his magic fall from his fingers, slumping over and succumbing to exhaustion.

He would hurt tomorrow. For now, he would sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I adore Myrth! He's one of my favorite characters!
> 
> also me: Here, Myrth, have some suffering!


	5. Starting Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the battle.

His body ached beyond anything he could remember, but he was  _ alive _ . He could feel warmth on either side of him, a gentle hand running through his hair. He hardly wanted to open his eyes.

“Ivius,” A gentle, familiar voice whispered from his right, not any of his lovers though. 

Opening his eyes, Ivius blinked the blurriness away to gaze up at Rai, a smile immediately gracing his face. They were sat behind him, his head in their lap, their hands running idly through his hair as they rested their head against the wall. Zol was curled on his left, fast asleep pressed against his side, arms carefully folded close in front of him. On his right was Elm, also asleep, one slender hand resting on his chest, directly over his heart. He could see tear tracks on her cheeks. Movement further from the bed caught his eye, and he shifted his head carefully to see more clearly, stirring Rai from their rest in the process.

“I thought you may be waking,” The Aeris said, perched on a windowsill with her hair tied back. Her hands were stained with blood and she looked worn, though a smile found its way to her face. “It’s good to see you with color in your face.”

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, Ivius lifted a hand to Elm’s, gently shifting it off so he could sit up--though Rai pulled him back against their chest before he could fall over.

“Careful, you’re still tender,” Rai advised in a whisper, wrapping their arms around his waist, “Take things slowly, you need more time to rest.”

“What happened,” Ivius croaked, wincing at the motion. Rai reached for a glass of water on the bedside table and passed it to him before speaking.

“Ekail attacked us with the beast,” Rai said softly, “You were the target it seems. It carried you like a chew toy.” There was no trace of humor in their voice, only bitter anger.

“Ekail… Myrth’s one-time apprentice?” Ivius asked, closing his eyes as flashes of the attack came to him. The sudden stone creatures attacking them, the tower raging, Myrth and Elm’s sudden reappearance. The beast. He shuttered, reaching up to trace his ribs… He could faintly recall it’s teeth burrowing into his skin.

“Yeah,” Rai said, “They had some sort of beef with Myrth, but we didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Why not?” Ivius asked, suddenly worried. Had something happened to Myrth? Where was he?

“He passed out just as I arrived,” The Aeris filled in, her voice wafting from the window, “He used quite a lot of magic in the battle it seems.”

“What do you mean? What happened? Is he okay?”

“Calm down,” Zol’s grumbling words rumbled through his chest as Zol scooted closer, finally wrapping one arm around him possessively, “Myrth’s alright, he fought off the beast and Ekail with his magic, then passed out from exhaustion after he mended the worst of your wounds.”

“He healed me? He fought off an  _ Immortal _ ?” Ivius’ head was spinning. He could tell the moment the sorcerer appeared that they were an Immortal--the crest he carried from Elm gave him such insight--but everything else was a shock.

“You were in really bad shape,” Rai said softly, moving to pet his and Elm’s hair at the same time--it was becoming a pleasant habit at this point. “Myrth didn’t think you would make it until the Aeris got here, so he did what he could. He knows how to use time magic apparently.”

“And how to tether Immortals,” Zol added quietly, a strange note in his voice, “It’s how he drove off Ekail.”

“Oh…” Ivius could feel the tension in Zol’s arm, and Rai shifted one hand to his hair to stroke soothingly through it. Zol had never directly spoken of his traumas, but between his and Rai’s reactions, Ivius could draw a conclusion. “Are you alright?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Zol murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder, “I was more shocked than anything.”

“Myrth is full of surprises,” Rai supplied.

“Ivius?” The soft, sleep-filled word drew all three of their attentions, and the Aeris quietly slipped from the room as Elm stirred. 

She sat up quickly, her hair sticking to the corners of her mouth, looking every bit the mess Ivius had expected. He knew her fears, knew he had nearly made them come true. He wasn’t surprised when her lips were pressed fiercely against his forehead, moving down to his eyes, his nose, his cheek, his lips, his neck. Elm’s hands fluttered frantically about his chest, brushing gently over his bruised ribs, settling over his beating heart after a long minute. Ivius let her, kept his hands glued to her side and lips against her when given the chance.

“I’m alright,” Ivius soothed, “I’m alive, I didn’t die.”

“You almost  _ did _ ,” Elm’s voice cracked, “I almost lost you.  _ We _ almost lost you.”

Zol reached around to rest a hand on Elm’s arm, his face laden with pity and pain. “He didn’t, and nor did Rai. He will be  _ alright _ , you heard what the Aeris said.”

“I... “ Elm paused, trying to collect herself but only succeeding in choking on a sob, “I can’t lose you…”

Though she looked at Ivius as she spoke, they knew Elm addressed them all. Slowly, gently, Ivius folded her into his arms, drawing soft patterns on her skin with his magic. He buried his nose in her hair, leaning back against Zol’s chest as Rai’s hand came to rest on Elm’s shoulder.

“You haven’t, and you  _ won’t _ ,” Ivius said, trying to force all the conviction he felt into his voice.

Slowly, Ivius felt Elm relax, her tears finally spilling down her cheeks in quiet, stuttering sobs. Rai shifted, wrapping their arms around her as well as Zol attempted to pull them all against his chest--unsuccessfully for the most part. Bit by bit, Elm let go, the tension in her muscles seeping out as her tears did. Ivius held firm, keeping her close to his chest, his magic brushing out in soothing warmth. He could feel Zol’s as well, less tamed and more clumsy, but gentle against Elm’s skin. Rai traced lines between the sparse freckles on her arms, drawing constellations only they could see.

Ivius wasn’t sure how long they sat there, a tangle of limbs. Elm sank slowly into a sort of relaxation, still sniffling on occasion, and sometime along the way Zol began to hum. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it was soothing nonetheless, a deep baritone register that rumbled through his chest. He wasn’t really sure where he ended and the others began, and frankly, that was exactly as he wanted it. Eventually, a soft, halting knock disturbed their quiet, startling Ivius from his wandering thoughts.

Disentangling himself from everyone, Zol padded to the door and opened it, pausing as he faced the figure beyond. It was not the Aeris this time, but rather a disheveled and nervous-looking Myrth. They both froze, staring at each other for a long moment before Myrth took a large step back, eyeing him warily.

“Myrth--”

“I’m sorry,” Myrth cut Zol off quickly, his voice scratchy and full of emotion, “I… I’m sorry.”

Ivius leaned back from Elm, keeping one hand on her forearm as he peered around Zol’s broad back. Myrth was wringing his hands, staring intently at the floor with shaking shoulders. His hair was a mess and he wasn’t wearing shoes, his shirt untucked and dark circles were under his eyes. He was more of a wreck than Elm, Ivius dared to say. Zol seemed to come to the same conclusion, as he reached gently towards him, holding his palm up.

“Myrth, you don’t have to be sorry,” Zol said quietly, stopping his movements when Myrth stepped away again, uncertainty in his very aura. “Why don’t you come in? We can talk this out, you don’t look very rested.”

“I… This is your space,” Myrth said, finally looking up to glance around. His eyes landed on Ivius, and a flash of intense relief crossed over his face for a bare moment before it was replaced by fear again.

“It’s  _ our _ space,” Rai corrected from beside Ivius, leaning nearly entirely off the bed to peer out the door, “And you’re allowed in it.”

“More than allowed, welcome,” Elm corrected, wiping her face with her sleeve, “Myrth, come inside. It’s been a long few days.”

“Few days?” Ivius asked, turning to Rai with a curious look. Rai simply shrugged, patting his hand gently.

Zol stepped back from the door, motioning for Myrth to enter. Slowly, tentatively, Myrth stepped forward, hesitating on the doorstep for a long minute. With a look of a wild animal, Myrth stepped fully inside, allowing Zol to quietly close the door behind him. Zol crossed to the bed, brushing against Myrth’s side with a gentle hand before settling in his place. Ivius sat up, patting the spot in front of him as Rai nestled into Zol’s side, tucking their legs over Ivius’ and onto Elm’s lap. Myrth hesitated, glancing between each of them in turn before perching on the edge of the dresser. Ivius sighed, reaching out with his magic to brush against Myrth, who jolted in surprise.

“Stop that,” Myrth huffed, hugging himself closely, “You shouldn’t use your magic while you’re so weak.”

“Then come here,” Ivius countered, patting the bed again, “I’m too tired to go over there and pull you here myself.”

“It’s your bed,” Myrth argued, though his ears turned red at his words.

“Once again, you’re welcome to it,” Elm said, adjusting Rai’s legs enough to lay parallel to Ivius, “Myrth, just come sit. You don’t have to cuddle, but you should sit. You’re as exhausted as us.”

Still, Myrth hesitated, looking between them with something akin to confusion. His eyes finally settled on Zol, and regret crossed over his face.

“I… You know I tried to kill Ekail,” Myrth said, confusion noted in his voice, “You know I am a murderer.”

“You had your reasons,” Elm said softly, “We have always been here for the truth and only that. To take the whole story from a single person’s wrathful statements would be remiss of our intentions. Come, sit, we can talk.”

Myrth looked hard at Zol, who offered him a gentle smile as he leaned back, tugging Rai with him until they were both settled on the bed, legs intertwined.

“Myrth I don’t blame you,” Zol murmured, resting his eyes once again, “Nor do I fear you. You are many things, but the Count you are not. I trust you.”

For a long moment, Myrth said nothing, finally sighing and crossing to the bed with a quiet murmur of “ _ nonsense _ ”. He settled uncertainly on the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged and facing them. Picking at the blanket beneath him, Myrth avoiding Ivius’ gaze intently.

“Myrth, have you slept?” Ivius asked, trying to get Myrth to look at him. He was granted a glance and a frown, a quick nod answering his question.

“For the past three days, I have slept,” Myrth said shortly, “I can’t sleep anymore. I’m… Nightmares. They kept waking me.” 

“Oh,  _ Myrth _ ,” Ivius said softly, reaching forward to gently take his hand. To his surprise, Myrth didn’t pull away, staring at their hands in… shock? “You should have come earlier, we could have helped.”

“None of you know dream magic,” Myrth said dismissively, tightening his grip on Ivius’ hand ever so slightly, “You wouldn’t have been able to help.”

“Company does much for the mind,” Elm said wisely, propping her feet up in Myrth’s lap. Myrth froze, staring in shock at the offending appendages but making no move to remove them.

“Why are you all like this,” Myrth huffed, angrily crossing his arms without releasing Ivius’.

“Because we like you, dumbass,” Rai said, nudging him with their foot, “Get it through your thick skull.”

Myrth stared. Slowly, almost sadly, Myrth released Ivius’ hand, setting it back in Ivius’ lap before removing Elm’s legs from his own. Shifting back, Myrth pulled his knees to his chest, his eyes fluttering shut. Ivius glanced at Elm, his own frown of concern mirrored on her face.

“You shouldn’t,” Myrth murmured quietly, settling his chin on his knees, “I am a lot of things, but a good man is not one of them. Ekail was not lying in what they said of me.”

Glancing at Zol and Rai, Ivius shifted forward slightly, keeping enough out of Myrth’s space to not freak him out but still making his presence known.

“We can listen if you have a story to tell,” Ivius said softly, tucking his hands under his legs to avoid reaching out to touch Myrth. For a long moment, Myrth didn’t reply, staying perfectly still as he thought over the offer. Finally, with a sigh, Myrth relented.

“I… There are many rumors about me, but Ekail’s is a true one,” Myrth began softly, his lip quivering, “I did try to kill them, and they were my apprentice. I took them on sometime ago--I don’t recall when I’m afraid--and they showed… promise. At first. But then things became more complex, and they began to stray from the simple arcane magic I was teaching them. Necromancy, forbidden transmutations, dangerous and deadly magic. It fascinated them. It terrified me. I… It was one of the things I wrote of in my journals, the ones you know of Elm. I wished to recall it, in case there were signs of danger I needed to be aware of for the future. Ekail wanted me to forget it.

“They discovered I kept a record of their descent into… a lust for power, and they broke into my library as a result. They sought out my journals, tore them apart as best they could, and burned many of the pages. I only caught them at the very end of their attack on my memories.”

Myrth paused, sighing again and softly banging his head on his knees. Though he knew Myrth wouldn’t be hurt by the action, Ivius couldn’t stop from reaching out to stop him, pulling back as Myrth flinched away. Frowning, Myrth gave Ivius a cryptic look.

“Sorry,” Ivius said softly, tucking his hand under his leg again, “Won’t happen again.”

Myrth nodded slowly, finally dropping his gaze. His face fell again, his hand coming to trace the pattern of the blanket. “I don’t recall much of what exactly I did, but I know I was… losing the last of my sanity. Ekail’s betrayal took the last of it. I tried to kill them, though not intentionally for whatever it’s worth. They lived because I realized my actions, was horrified by them. They left, and I don’t know what became of them after. Or, didn’t, rather. I wasn’t aware they still harbored a grudge, nor that they became an Immortal. Had I known I would have never allowed you to stay and put you in such danger. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, we didn’t exactly listen to you telling us to leave,” Ivius said, a wry smile on his face. Myrth glanced up, frowning.

“You keep saying that, and yet… I feel like I should,” Myrth curled in on himself, “I’ve done… so much that needs to be apologized for, to you and to others.”

“You cannot keep carrying that guilt forever,” Rai said, sitting up, “I think we’ve made it abundantly clear to you that we don’t blame you.”

“But you  _ should _ ,” Myrth repeated, fisting his hands in his hair. Elm sat up, placing at hand on Ivius’ as he reached for Myrth. “You  _ all _ should, most of all you Zol.”

“What?” Zol sat up as well, sounding genuinely confused.

“I did exactly what hurt you, but to another. I researched it in secret, kept it from you, used it in front of you. I could have  _ hurt _ you,” Myrth’s voice cracked, a whine escaping his throat, “You should  _ hate _ me.”

“I will hate no one but the people who hurt me,” Zol said firmly, his face hardening instantly, “The blame lays on the Count and the Count alone, not you and not anyone else in this room. I trust you all, implicitly and explicitly. Myrth, I don’t pretend to understand why you researched the tether, but I do not  _ fear _ you because of it. Myrth, look at me--” Myrth paused, then forced his eyes to Zol’s. “--you  _ saved _ Ivius and Rai because of your actions. I  _ trust _ you.  _ I trust you _ .”

The first tears began to fall with Zol’s words, dripping slowly and silently down Myrth’s face, unnoticed. Ivius brushed Elm’s hand off at last, leaning forward to pull Myrth into a hug yet again. Myrth froze, tensing in his arms, and for a terrifying moment, Ivius thought he would pull away. Then, slowly, he relaxed, his arms coming up to grip desperately at Ivius’ nightshirt, burying his face in his neck. Ivius could feel the tremors begin, shaking through his frame slowly. They built with each sob that tore from Myrth’s throat, fingers tightening in Ivius’ shirt. Ivius did his best to hold Myrth together while he gripped him with the frenzy of a dying man. Ivius could feel Elm shift closer, running a hand over Myrth’s arm with the same gentleness she offered all of their touch-starved lovers. 

“I’m sorry, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” Myrth sobbed into his shoulder.

“Shhh, don’t be,” Ivius murmured gently, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Still, Myrth sobbed. He had hundreds of years of pain and sorrow built up, pent up in his mind only to be released in fits of anger. Rai shifted closer, tentatively laying a hand on Myrth’s head. Had Myrth never been held like this before? It felt like it. Zol joined in, taking a gentle grip on Myrth’s wrist and thumbing over his hand. Myrth only sobbed harder, tightening his grip impossibly so.

“Myrth, Myrth,” Ivius hummed, unsure what he was trying to say. He hoped his affection for the man was conveyed in the quiet words.

“Please don’t leave me,” Myrth whimpered at last, so quiet Ivius almost thought he had imagined it. The quiet noise of pain from Elm said differently.

“We won’t,” Rai said confidently, “We don’t want to. None of us do.”

Myrth didn’t respond, pressing forward until he was practically in Ivius’ lap. Ivius pulled him close, settling his head on his shoulder. Slowly, between all of their gentle touches, Myrth’s sobs slowed to a stop. He sat in silence for a bit after, still sniffling and hiding his face. He made no move to pull away from any of them, staying still in their grasp. Ivius hoped it was a peaceful stillness and not one of fear.

“You say you want to stay,” Myrth murmured at last, his voice muffled and shaky, “But how do I know you will? How do I know I can trust you as I did Ekail?”

“Join us,” Ivius said instinctively, then froze. That… was not what he meant to or should have said. They hadn’t discussed adding a  _ fifth _ to their strange relationship, let alone  _ Myrth _ . And yet… and yet it felt right. Even as Myrth tensed in his arms, it felt right. He wanted this, had been wanting this for a long time. He should have asked first of course, but somehow… He thought it would be alright.

“What?” Myrth finally pulled away, eyes red and puffy and utterly bewildered. He glanced between them, confused. To his right, Elm shifted forward, taking one of Myrth’s hands in her own.

“I stand by Ivius’ offer,” Elm said, lifting his hand to her lips to press the softest of kisses against his knuckles.

“I think there’s room for a fifth,” Zol added, releasing his grip of Myrth’s arm only to weave their fingers together.

“There’s room for  _ you _ ,” Rai said firmly, shifting to sit more against Myrth’s side.

Myrth’s gaze flicked between them quickly, as if trying to figure out which one of them was lying. Ivius gave him an earnest, loving smile as he met his eyes, hoping beyond hope that it would speak everything he could not yet put to words. The way Myrth’s smile would flutter his heart, the way his intense interest in all things magic was contagious, the soft lift to his voice as he spoke to his plants.

“You’re lying,” Myrth said, though he sounded completely unconvinced by his own statement. He still had his arms loosely wrapped around Ivius’ hips, Zol’s hand gripped in his own. “You have to be.”

“Is it so shocking that we can love you? And want to stay with you?” Zol asked.

“Yes.”

It was not the answer Ivius was hoping for, but it was the one he expected. Still, it brought a frown to his face.

“But…” Myrth began, renewing their hope. “But perhaps… I… It has been a very long time since I have had much more than a friend. Do not expect much from me.”

“Myrth,” Rai began tiredly, “We don’t  _ expect _ anything from you, just… you. You, honestly and as much as you are willing to give. We don’t expect you to do or be anything you don’t want to.”

“There is much you don’t know of me,” Myrth warned, though he relaxed into Ivius as he spoke, “You may not like what you learn.”

“The same can be said of us,” Zol replied smoothly.

“It’s a chance we are willing to take,” Ivius put it.

“You are all fools to take such a chance,” Myrth huffed as he curled Rai under his arm, “Absolute fools.”

“You’re being awfully clingy to these fools,” Elm said with a smirk.

“You’re warm,” Myrth argued, “Shut up.”

Ivius chuckled, gently prying Myrth off long enough to shift back. Rearranging the pillows, Ivius settled back on the bed, patting the spot to his right. With a start, Myrth stared, glancing between the four of them before carefully settling next to him. Ivius curled his arm around Myrth’s shoulder, pulling him mostly flush against his side as Elm settled by Myrth’s back. Rai draped an arm over Ivius’ chest as they settled in, Zol curling against their back with a deep, satisfied sigh. 

Myrth was still and stiff, obviously unsure of what he was doing or where to put his hands. Gently, Ivius took one in his own, resting it over his heart as Elm had done, pulling the other into his own. Elm shifted onto her side, tentatively laying an arm over Myrth’s chest. Glancing between them, Myrth began to slowly relax.

They lay in silence, shifting slightly as they struggled to find comfortable positions. Inch by inch, Myrth relaxed, tension seeping from his muscles bit by bit. Ivius felt the exhaustion return, unable to be hidden by worry or elation, and his eyes grew heavy. Humming in satisfaction as Myrth tangled their legs, Ivius let his eyes slip close once more.

“Thank you all.”

Myrth breathed the words in his ear, gaining a final smile before sleep claimed Ivius. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: four dumbasses continually invade the space of head dumbass until he falls in love with them.
> 
> It took,,, so many words,,, for everyone to be on the same page and in the same goddamn bed,,, but we are Here y'all and I'm living for it.


End file.
